


A Circle of Candlelight

by katedf



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katedf/pseuds/katedf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard and Camille are trapped at the meteorology lab during a hurricane. The power has gone out, so Richard lights candles. It should be the perfect opportunity for romance. But Richard is being very <i>Richard</i>, so Camille tries to think of ways to get his attention off the white board.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Circle of Candlelight

Camille chuckled as she picked up the chocolate bar from the tray in the vending machine. One moment, he was appalled that she would steal food, and the next he was asking for chocolate. Not for the first time, she thought, he’s so _Richard_. He probably never colored outside the lines when he was a child, or used his mother’s lipstick to “paint” flowers on her bedroom walls. No, Richard was the antonym of spontaneous.

She rounded the corner and couldn’t believe her eyes. Richard had found candles in the emergency kits she had scavenged for blankets. He’d arranged them around the area so that they would be sitting in a circle of candlelight. So perhaps he could be spontaneous, dare she hope even a little romantic?

She smiled as she handed him the candy bar and said, “The candles look nice.”

“Yes, well, it was getting dark. You know, of all the suspects, I think Daman is the least likely. He’s too much of a slacker to be bothered…”

Camille stared at Richard. He lighted all those candles so he could see his damn white board! She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She sat down and ripped open her bag of crisps so viciously that some of them scattered onto the blanket. She picked those up and ate them first. He was so involved in talking about the case that he didn’t bother to make a remark about that being unhygienic behavior. 

As Richard nattered on about means, motive, and opportunity, Camille thought about these elements of a crime. They were elements of seduction, too. Well, he had opportunity, that was certain. They were trapped here, just the two of them, for the duration of the storm. Means were a little thin. They didn’t have a bed or a sofa, just the blankets from the emergency kits. No wine. But they had candlelight, which was seductive. Or could be, if a certain person would notice that.

So it came down to motive. He didn’t want her. That was the obvious explanation. But he’d talked about his feelings for her after Aimee died. Yes, he’d tried to make it sound like he was talking about her feelings for Aimee, but his use of present tense gave him away. 

So if his lack of motive wasn’t lack of feeling, it was … what? Fear? Was he afraid that she’d reject him, make fun of him? Could he really think she was capable of being cruel, like Doug Anderson? Had he been hurt so badly that he couldn’t take the risk again?

Means, motive, and opportunity applied to her, too. She had the same means and opportunity. And yes, she had motive. All this time, trying to get under his skin, get to know him, she’d taken him into her heart. So what were her options?

One  
Just grab him and kiss him senseless. She looked at the candles on the floor. No, she’d knock him off balance and they might fall onto a candle and set the whole place on fire. As she looked at the candles, she realized that Richard had been so very _Richard._ He’d taken one of the fire extinguishers off the wall and placed it nearby in case one of the candles fell over. Even so, Option One was probably not a good choice. Plus there was that masculinity thing men had about being the one to make the first move, even if they were too chicken to make it. The last thing she wanted to do was to intimidate him.

Two  
Cry. It would give her an opportunity to ask what was so wrong with her that he didn’t want her. And, God knew, she was close enough to tears of frustration already. No, that would make him uncomfortable, and he’d probably try to run out into the storm. Again.

Three  
Act afraid. Well, it was the feminine thing to do, wasn’t it? Flinch and cry out at the next flash of lightning so he could be the Big Brave Man. Except he’d never believe it of her. She wasn’t afraid of insects or lizards or snakes. Or storms. He’d see through that in a second.

Four  
Continue their little dance of getting closer and pulling back. Get him to talk about something other than this case. Try to find another crack in that shell of his. There had to be one big enough for her to wriggle through. There had to be!

“I suppose any of them could have had an accomplice who—” Richard stopped talking when Camille grabbed the pen out of his hand and flung it across the room.

“You’ve been talking for TWO HOURS!” she said.

“Have I?”

Camille shook her head. He truly had no clue. But his need to talk—another layer of his shell, she realized—kicked in and he started to tell her about childhood holidays in a caravan. Then he offered to take her for a weekend in a caravan in Clacton someday. She had no idea where Clacton was, but a caravan? Really? Was that the best he could offer? And why did she find it oddly endearing?

Richard talked about his father and his feeling that he’d been a disappointment. Camille was touched that Richard talked to her about something so personal. When he realized he’d opened up like that, he apologized “for being, you know…”

“Can you keep a secret?” she asked.

Richard nodded.

“I quite like it. And this was nice.” She lay down on her side. Richard picked up a book and began to read. Camille dozed off, but woke about a half hour later. Richard was still reading, although for someone who claimed to be able to speed read, he hadn’t made much progress.

“Richard?”

“Hmm? I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. You should be, too.”

“No, I’m fine.”

Camille sat up and frowned at him. “It’s been a long and stressful day. You should get some sleep.”

“No, I, uh, don’t think. That is, we, um, shouldn’t…” he gestured helplessly toward the improvised bed.

“Oh, Richard! Sleeping in the same place isn’t sleeping together,” she laughed and used air quotes to annoy him.

“See, you really do find my discomfort amusing.”

“Not in the way you think, Richard. I don’t enjoy it because I’m cruel. I would never be disappointed in you, or belittle you, or try to hurt you. You know I’m not a bully. If I tease you, it’s just out of friendship.”

“That’s an odd way to show friendship.”

“Well, you don’t like sentiment, so you don’t leave me a lot of options. And don’t say I don’t need options, because we _are_ friends. This shell you have around you has more layers than I can imagine. Your discomfort is the only way I can know if I’ve found a crack. And every time I do find a crack, you patch it. So I try harder to find cracks, or make them. Because I want to get in, because…” Camille blinked rapidly. Damn, Option Four was slipping into Option Two. And she didn’t want to do that. 

Richard stared at one of the candles and shook his head sadly.

“Richard… Richard!” Camille took his chin in her hand and lifted his face so he’d have to look at her. “Why can’t you believe that someone could love you?” Camille held her breath. THAT revelation hadn’t been on her list of options.

They looked at each other in surprise. He blinked and looked away. Camille let her hand fall from his face and rest on his hand. He sighed and wrapped his fingers around her hand.

“I want to believe it,” Richard said softly.

“Believe it,” said Camille as she squeezed his hand, “Because it’s true.”

“We shouldn’t. You know, rules and all that.”

“In case you haven’t noticed it, Richard, I don’t always follow rules.”

Richard smiled, “Really? And you, an officer of the law. I shall have to report you to your superior.”

“You aren’t innocent either, Inspector. You’re the receiver of stolen goods.” Camille picked up the wrapper from his chocolate bar. “I could arrest you for this.”

“Oh, no, Sergeant, please don’t do that!” Richard smiled, and Camille realized they were slipping into their usual bantering. Maybe that was their way of communicating, and mush and romance would never be their style.

“I don’t have any handcuffs. But…” Camille smiled and quickly loosened and removed his tie. “I could use this as a restraint.”

“Don’t tie my hands behind my back.”

“Why not?” Camille asked as she leaned forward to move his arm behind his body.

“Because I can’t kiss you properly that way.” He used the arm she wasn’t holding to pull her closer. When he kissed her, it crossed her mind that his kiss was more thorough than one might consider proper. She thought she could hear the shell cracking.

But a little later, he started to repair the cracks.

“But we can’t, um, you know,” he gestured to the bedding. 

Camille sighed, “Rules?”

“Well, partly that, but … I’m not a twenty-year-old university student,” Richard shook his head, “I’m not saying this well… I mean, not on a pile of blankets on a cold hard floor like a couple of teenagers. I’d rather wait for a nicer setting, like a bed for one thing.”

Camille suppressed a comment about chairs and tables and desks. They were going to have to work on spontaneity.

Richard continued, “I guess what I’m trying to say is I want more than just taking advantage of a chance opportunity. More than a one-off. I don’t want us to do something you’ll regret in the morning, or that will ruin our friendship and make us awkward. Well, me, actually. I’m awkward most of the time as it is. I don’t want to make it worse.”

“I think you’re wonderful, even when you’re being awkward. And, despite what you might think, I do worry about the rules. But we’ll figure it out. Just promise me that in the morning you won’t pretend that this didn’t happen. You’re awfully good at denial.”

“I’m not THAT good at denial. And I’m tired of pretending that I don’t… that you’re only a friend. But we will have to careful around others.”

“I know. It’s our secret for now. Mustn’t tell anyone.” Most of the candles had burned out, so she said, “Maybe we should just get some sleep.”

They fell asleep facing each other, holding hands. At some point in the night, Camille turned over, dragging Richard’s hand onto her neck. Despite the hard floor and the distraction of Camille being so close, Richard slept well. 

The next thing Richard was aware of was a voice. Not Camille’s.

“Mornin’,” Dwayne drawled. Richard’s eyes popped open. 

His first thought was, Thank God we still have our clothes on! He jumped to his feet and started talking about the search for the balloon. When Camille mumbled something about “mustn’t tell anyone,” Richard couldn’t look at Dwayne and Fidel. But when he woke Camille, she grumbled about chasing balloons before they’d even had coffee, and if Dwayne and Fidel thought anything had happened, they didn’t show it.

Later that afternoon, after Dwayne and Fidel had left the beach house, Richard called his father. Camille stood at the other end of the veranda, trying not to eavesdrop. But she could tell from Richard’s tone of voice that it was a pleasant chat. After he ended the call, he walked to where Camille was standing.

“So,” she said, “How’s your dad?”

“Fine. They did know about the hurricane. He said they tried to call last night, but couldn’t get through.”

“See, they were worried about you.”

“Mum was, anyhow. Dad said she was fussing like a mother hen who’d misplaced a chick.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Yeah. He said he had to remind her that I’m a policeman, trained to handle emergency situations, and that I did, in fact, have the sense to get in out of the rain.”

“That doesn’t sound like disappointment to me. I think he _is_ proud of you.”

“I suppose.”

“Although,” Camille smiled, “It’s just as well he doesn’t know the truth. You _don’t_ have the sense to stay out of the rain.”

“I had to get that camera!”

“It wasn’t worth risking your life! Honestly, Richard, suppose that blow to the head had been worse! All I had was that little first-aid kit. There was no way to call an ambulance. What if you’d been seriously hurt?”

“It was just a little cut. And you did fairly well with first aid. A little heavy-handed cleaning the wound. The cold can of soda was a clever idea instead of ice.”

“Even so, it’s starting to show a bruise. You know, there was one bit of first aid I forgot to use last night.”

“What was that?”

“Universal way to make a cut all better.” Camille stood on tiptoes and kissed his temple near the cut.

Richard wrapped his arms around her. “You make everything better. Last night… was it the whole thing about being marooned and the candlelight… or was it real? Is it real?”

“I think last night, being forced together like that made us face something we’ve been avoiding for a while. You agreed, no more denial.”

“No more denial. Although I wonder—”

“Richard!”

“Yes?”

“Are you going to talk for two hours again?”

“No. One more thing and then I promise to be quiet.”

“What’s that?”

“I love you.”

Camille was sure she could hear the shell cracking. Richard looked at her nervously, so she answered before he could start repairing it again.

“I love you, too.”

They kissed, and she could feel him relax as the pieces of the shell fell away. 

“It’s too early in the day for candlelight,” Richard said with a shy smile, “But at least I do have a bed…”

Camille grinned as they walked into the house. Maybe he could be spontaneous after all.


End file.
